


To be next you

by cassiansmanbun



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiansmanbun/pseuds/cassiansmanbun
Summary: Cassian has a nightime visit from a sleep deprived Nesta ;)





	To be next you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hope you enjoy this oneshot sorry it's quite short :)

When Cassian woke up amidst a restless slumber, he hadn't expected to be met by a pair a grey eyes peeping through the entrance of his tent. He didn't know why any faerie would dare wander through an Illyrian war camp at any given time, let alone at night. But nonetheless, he fumbled for his dagger that glistened in the dark on his bedside table, and warily shifted off his duvet covers and padded towards the pair of eyes. They seemed to be squinting, as if adjusting to the darkness of his tent. Cassian's arms and legs were heavy, his membranous wings as well. They dragged along the floor of the tent, disturbing the frozen earth beneath it. Cassian was not in a good mood. His precious sleep had been disturbed by a nosy faerie, and now he would have to deal with it himself. Why couldn't it have stumbled across another tent, one with some death starved Illyrian warrior who would have much more fun with it than he would. 

He drew the dagger back so that it was positioned by his ears, poised to strike. "Go," he grunted, "this is no place for a faerie like yourself." The stormy eyes blinked back at him, and he could hear, feel, the faeries hot breath. To his surprise, the faerie huffed and said "It's me, you prat." The faerie stepped into the tent, and Cassian took a step back before lowering the dagger. Nesta looked up at him with a blank expression. "Nesta?" he breathed, puzzled, still half asleep. He could barely make out her face in the darkness of the early morning, but he recognised her elegant cheekbones and thick eyebrows. "I couldn't sleep," she said plainly, eyeing the dagger Cassian still held tightly. He caught her gaze and retreated back into the tent, placing the dagger onto the table and beckoning her to follow suit. "You must be freezing," he remarked. Indeed, he could see that her nose was bright pink and she was shaking in her thin night gown. Very thin, actually. He could see almost every contour and curve of her body. The skirts of the nightgown were soaked in wet mud. Had she trekked through the muck and cold for him? "I am freezing. But better freezing than laying in that damned bed. Every time I try and close my eyes I see his face," there was an icy bitterness to her voice. "Whose face?" Cassian asked. "Hybern," she replied bluntly, rubbing her eyes. 

Cassian fumbled for a candlestick and lit it quickly. It illuminated the tent a warm orange, and he could see Nesta's face clearly now. He took a seat at the bed, it creaking beneath his weight, and patted the area beside him. It was a risky gesture, and Cassian braced himself for the verbal abuse Nesta would hurl back at him. Instead she accepted the offer and sat beside him. She was still shivering, so Cassian picked up the thick deer hide which lay on the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders. Tried to wrap it around her at least. She took it from his grasp and muttered something along the lines of "I can do it myself." Hybern's name still echoed in the tent, filling the tired silence. It made Cassian's stomach churn a little and he could feel Nesta's tenseness. "Do you see what the cauldron sees?" he asked eventually. Nesta glanced up at him and shrugged, "I don't really know what I see. Amren tries to explain it but I don't understand. All I know is that I see things that I want to forget." He could tell she was trying her best to not let herself waver, but he could feel the achey undertones of her voice. A part of him ached as well, he hated how she was going through so much pain. She didn't want to become Fae, it was evident from the way she looked at her reflection and never wore her hair up. Cassian had noticed those things. He supposed he should've disaproved of her hatred for his kind, but it was a Fae who had taken her sister Feyre away only a few years ago, it was Fae that had plunged her into the Cauldron, it was Fae that had doomed her with the death sentence of immortality. One day he would make Hybern pay for what he did to her. Make him pay for throwing her into that cauldron without a second doubt. 

"The only thing I want to do is sleep," she mumbled, and to Cassian's surprise, she rested her head against his shoulder. Cassian felt the heat burn his cheeks and his palms become feverish, but he welcomed the feeling of her cool cheek against the fabric of his night clothes. He had never seen Nesta be so affectionate, so open and candid. He had never seen her not insult him more than once in a span of ten minutes. He was about to reply in agreement when he let out a gasp.

Nesta was tracing the ridges and bumps of his Illyrian wings, and every touch sent shivers bolting through his body. "N-N-" his sentence was cut off as she pressed down on a soft lump of tissue and he shuddered and lurched forward. "Shit Cassian", she hissed, pulling her head from his shoulder, "what's wrong." He straightened his back and let his wings slump. "Nothing, it's just-" her touch was still sending electricity through his back "Illyrian wings, they're sensitive." He looked at her in the dim light and a smirk crept across her face. "Cassian," she sighed, amused, "the mighty Illyrian General." His name on her teasing lips made his stomach flutter and he suddenly felt like an adolescent again. She must have noticed the effect on him as she repeated his name. "Cassian," she said sensuously, "Ca-ss-ee-un." He clenched his jaw and tried to suppress the primitive urge that was building up inside of him. Her dark blonde hair was slightly askew and the skirts of her night gown had bunched up to her thighs. She looked so perfect, her nose and cheeks still slightly scarlet from the cold, her eyes droopy and lustful. It took every inch of his willpower to not pin her down onto the bed and unleash the wild animal that stirred inside of him. 

Instead, he lay down and rested his head on a pillow. Nesta cocked her head. "I'm knackered," he exclaimed. She nodded and pursed her lips. To Cassian's shock and slight mortification, she lay down beside him, and nestled into the duvets and deer hide. Cassian looked at her, perplexed. "If you think I'm going back to that tent, you have another think coming," she said, offering a reason as to why she, Nesta, the most stubborn and cold woman Cassian had ever met, was lying next to him. It was Cassian's turn to smirk now. "Sure," he teased. "If you tell anyone about this," she threatened, deadly serious, "You won't be immortal for much longer." "Okay, okay," Cassian replied. Cassian reached over to blow out the candle and they were consumed by darkness. They lay for a while, but none of them bothered to close their eyes. Nesta broke the silence in the most Nesta why possible, "Ugh, it's too cold." Cassian furrowed his brows pensively for a second, before saying "Come closer then." A risky demand indeed. He had expected to be slapped across the face, but Nesta submitted and budged closer so that she was pressed against his side. At first she was as stiff as a floorboard, but soon relaxed. Cassian on the other hand couldn't contain himself, he was going to have a very hard time getting to sleep. "Why did you choose to come to my tent? Why not Feyre or Mor?" he asked. Nesta rubbed her eyes and said, "I don't feel like gatecrashing Feyre and Rhysand whilst they're doing whatever they do during the early hours of morning." He sniffed in agreement. "And also, I feel safest with you." 

It was like he'd been punched in the throat. Words like this from a woman who supposedly hated him. Perhaps it was because she was drunk with fatigue, or she was so tired she couldn't control what she was saying, but Cassian hoped more than anything her words were genuine. He was lying next to the woman who he knew was his mate. He knew it from the bottom of the soul. And as they drifted off, for Cassian, just to be next to her was enough.


End file.
